Rudgar and Sascha Ficlet Adventures
by GrellsLilSecret
Summary: This is a series of Rudgar and Sascha ficlets that were inspired by a conversation with a friend and her headcanons. Although told as separate stories, all actually relate and connect to one another. My friend's headcanon for Sascha is that he's a young boy. Please enjoy the stories!
1. Chapter 1

Rudgar stood near the hanging body, trying not to notice the final twitches as the life was slowly dragged from the tiny form. Why did the kid have to choose hanging? It's not that taking one's own life was ever a pleasant matter, but there were more efficient, less painful methods. Slowly, he took a long drag from his cigarette as a distant clock rang out the hour. It was almost time. Soon, he would have his first apprentice.

Despite his years of dependable service, Rudgar had never acted a mentor before. No one saw him as particularly personable or friendly, nor had he made any effort to allow himself to be seen as anything else. He did his job quietly without any pomp or fanfare and rarely socialized. The only thing that set him apart at all was his smoking habit. It was technically impossible for Shinigami to be addicted as their bodies immediately eradicated poisons or foreign substances, but he felt incomplete without a warm cigarette between his lips or his fingers. Sucking in the last of the smoke into his body, he threw his cigarette to the ground and turned to see the young boy sitting below his still swinging body. Rudgar took a step towards the boy, who actually looked slightly younger than his fourteen years, as he prepared himself for the inevitable questions. While this might be his first time retrieving a newly reborn Shinigami, he had often heard the stories of the scared, confused individuals who were just trying to make sense of it all. He still had no idea what might drive someone this young to something so extreme, but the records of one chosen to be reborn weren't examined like typical reaps.

"I thought I'd be dead by now," Sascha said in a calm tone as he looked down at his hands. "I thought hanging would be a surefire method."

"It was a surefire method," Rudgar began, "You see..."

"Then I am dead!" Sascha's now green gold eyes grew with interest and he blinked a few times nearsightedly. He turned and regarded the body. "Is that me? I can't see very clearly now."

"That's because all Shinigami are nearsighted," explained Rudgar, "You'll have to be fitted for some glasses, but these will do in the meantime." He pulled out a pair of glasses and placed them on Sascha's face.

Sascha clasped his hands together as the glasses were put into place and his eyes sparkled brilliantly. He almost looked like a child regarding his presents on Christmas morning. "I'm a Shinigami!" It might have been meant as a question, but the joyous tone of voice made it more of an exclamation. "Are you a Shinigami too then?"

"Yes. My name is Rudgar."

"My name is Sascha, but I guess you already knew that." He laughed loudly as he looked around, "So where to next, Rudgar? Can we go anywhere now?" He continued to look around as if the world was suddenly opening up to him.

Rudgar looked on a little confused. Yet, despite this newly reborn Shinigami's odd behavior, he couldn't help but feel a little protective. Sascha was so innocent and unique, and there were those who would take advantage of that. Never before had he felt the need to look out for anyone. That was typically a luxury a Shinigami just didn't have, but he knew that Sascha needed him.

Perhaps, he even needed Sascha.


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Rebirthday to You!**

Time had very little meaning in the Shinigami realm. There were work hours and overtime of course, but beyond the aspect of their jobs, time had no purpose beyond reminding them of their seemingly endless sentence. Clocks were abundant, but calendars were a rarity as days melded into month, years, decades, and even centuries. Rudgar had long since accepted this as truth, and it rarely even crossed his mind. There were times, however, that endless horizon of time did weigh upon him, although he had never voiced such feelings to anyone.

This was such an instance as he walked back to his apartment; dragging his feet slightly as he moved. There had been a factory explosion which had led to a messy, tedious job and left him feeling the smell of soot and seared flesh clinging to his clothes. Right now, he wanted to go home, collapse, and just forget all about this assignment. He wanted to forget about this day and all the endless days that came before and those still left to arrive. With something of relief, he unlocked his door, stepped inside the familiar, darkened space, and turned on the light.

"Surprise!" the cheerful voice of Sascha cried as the young Shinigami jumped up from behind the sofa where he had been hiding. "Happy Deathday!"

"Deathday?" Rudgar repeated in a surprised tone. He hadn't been expected to see Sascha this afternoon as the trainee was still only freshly recruited in the academy, and he certainly hadn't dreamed he would be in his house. Looking about, he saw the boy had decorated his apartment with black balloons and streamers as if in preparation of some macabre celebration.

"Of course," Sascha said with a laugh, "This is the anniversary of when you were reborn as a Shinigami. Didn't you know that? I thought we'd celebrate. After all, how many times do you die and get reborn?" He threw some confetti in the air before turning to disappear into Rudgar's kitchen.

"I'm not sure," Rudgar answered in a somewhat amazed tone as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him automatically.

"Well, it can't be too many times," Sascha answered as he remerged with an obviously homemade cake that tilted dangerously to the right. It had been generously frosted with dark chocolate that stood up in odd peaks. "I made a cake."

"How do you know that this is the anniversary?" questioned Rudgar.

Sascha smiled up slyly. "I asked Mr. Frederich to see your records," he admitted, "He said it was against the rules, but I finally got to let me take a peek. I didn't see much, but when I saw that the anniversary was coming up, I knew I had to do something special." He tilted his head in an adorable manner that somehow made him look even younger. "Is that okay?"

Rudgar considered the situation for a moment. Normally, he would have said that it wasn't okay since was a rather private individual, and he didn't like the idea of someone looking at his records, but he knew that Sascha only had good intentions. Besides, even if he had been annoyed, he couldn't have stayed mad at the boy. Sascha's innocence was so refreshing in this stuffy realm, that his smile could melt even the coldest of hearts. Rudgar had even been to question if he had a heart until he had met him, but now he was determined to do all he could to protect this tiny Shinigami. "I suppose," he relented, "but do you have to call it Deathday? That sounds so morbid."

"I thought it was a lovely name," returned Sascha, "but what about Rebirthday then? Does that sound better?"

Despite himself, Rudgar chuckled. "You are a strange one, Sascha," he said, "Rebirthday it is then. So, how about we try some of that cake?"

Smiling brilliantly, Sascha set the cake down on a nearby table and went to retrieve a knife. Rudgar watched, and he realized that Sascha never ceased to amaze him. After all, who would have ever thought of something like a rebirthday before? At the same time, it was more than that. Sascha was life among this world of the dead. In that moment, Rudgar supposed sentence didn't feel quite so long. He waited patiently as Sascha returned and cut a generous piece for both of them, which Rudgar immediately took a large bite of.

Yes, eternity didn't seem all that, although he thought he should take the time to teach Sascha the difference in the salt and sugar when making a cake.


	3. Chapter 3: The Bully

**The Bully**

The boy ran down the street, his dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, as he ran from something apparently invisible to all those around him. He was a tall, sturdy boy that, upon first glance, looked to be more of a man than a boy, but one only had to see the dull light of ignorance in his muddy, brown eyes or the splattering of acne of his chin to realize that he was a young teen or had simply reached his full stature early in life. A few people looked up at him as he ran, but no one said a word or attempted to assist him. He had really expected them to do anything, although this is one time he would have welcomed any and all help.

His feet pounded across the stone and dirt as he hurried on to his house, but he didn't really assume that he would be safe there. After all, that's the very place it was assumed he would run to, so he turned quickly and sprinted to the root cellar nestled in the small knoll. It was nearly hidden by some straggly trees, and it hadn't been used in years, which made it the perfect spot to hide.

The door protested loudly on its rusted hinges as opened it and ran inside, allowing the door to shut behind him with a bank. It was completely dark except for a few thin beams of light that filtered through the cracks in the door, and the smell was almost unbearably musty and mildew. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down heavily on the dirt floor.

"Oh, Frank," an eerily familiar voice called from somewhere behind him.

Frank jumped to his feet and spun around, only to trip and fall back to the ground. In the back of the cellar, he could see a figure plainly despite the dim light. It was that weird kid he used to tease, Sascha, but that was impossible.

Sascha was dead.

He had seen the body himself hanging from a tree before the family had a chance to take it down. In fact, he had thrown a few rocks at it in the early morning hours. He knew for a fact that the freak was dead, but somehow he was standing here in the cellar. Sascha even looked almost the same except for the strange, glowing eyes of two shades of green. The freak's eyes had been dark blue.

"Frank," Sascha called again, smiling brightly.

"What do you want?" Frank demanded, "You're dead! You shouldn't be here!" Tears filled his eyes for the first time in many years as he pleaded with what he could only assume to be the ghost of the boy he had teased and bullied so many times. "I'm sorry! You hear me? I'm sorry I was mean to you!"

Sascha's smile grew as did the odd glow about his body. His form was even clearer now as he undid the top buttons of his dress shirt and tilted his head sideways to reveal the scar of a robe burned deep into his slender neck. As Frank watched, Sascha's head lolled more and it became clear that his neck had been broken. Bright green eyes peered at him curiously from a head that now hung completely upside down, and Frank suddenly felt warm dampness spreading through is pants as his bladder gave.

Frank let out a terrified scream that sounded more animal than human as he managed to get to his feet and stumble from the cellar. The stench of voided urine hung behind as a reminder of his fright.

…

"Sascha," a warning voice said.

Turning, Sascha found himself looking up at the disapproving face of Rudgar. "Yes?" he asked innocently.

"You know you aren't supposed to terrorize the living," Rudgar admonished, "even if that boy was a bully to you in life."

"I wasn't trying to terrorize him,"Sascha replied, "I was just showing him there is an existence after death."

Rudgar stared at him silently, and it was clear he didn't believe the story, but he said nothing else as he created a portal. "Let's go," he said.

Sascha nodded, but when Rudgar's back was turned, he pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket and a pen. Carefully marking Frank's name off the list, he looked at the few other names remaining.

After all, Frank hadn't been the only one to bully him when he had been alive.


	4. Chapter 4: It Was No Dream

**It Was No Dream**

It was early, far too early for Rudgar's liking, but he simply stifled a yawn as he walked to his small office to retrieve the day's assignments. He took a deep puff from his cigarette and exhaled deeply so that the grayish smoke created something of a mock halo about his head, but he didn't feel saintly or even redeemed. He simply felt tired. Wordlessly, he opened the door to his office and took his first shuffling step inside.

"Good morning, Rudar!" Sascha cheerfully greeted. The small reaper had perched himself on his desk and was sitting there with his short legs kicking happily over the side. A carefree smile was painted on his cheerful face as his large eyes sparkled with happiness.

"Mornin'," Rudgar managed, shutting the door behind him and walking over to his desk. Although he wouldn't have said anything to upset his young partner, he couldn't help but think it should be illegal to be so bubbly this early in the day. "Have you already looked over the assignments?"

Sascha nodded, his brown hair dancing about his face as he did. "We don't have to go out until later," he answered, "but then, there's going to be a real bloody mess! Someone's going to get by this train and it's going to drag him all the way down the tracks. There's even a note in there it's going to be tough finding a big enough chunk of him to even extract his records." He was obviously excited at the prospect, and clasped his hands in front of his face like a small child eyeing his presents on Christmas morning.

Rudgar snorted slightly and sat down behind his desk. "You're a weird one," he mumbled, but he smiled. Weird or not, he rather liked his tiny partner and had grown used to his morbid streak over the years. If he was being entirely honest with himself, being morbid wasn't all that odd for a reaper considering the way they had to deal with death. At least it had helped Sascha retain his sanity, which was something far too many of their kind lost over time. "I'll never understand how you stay so happy."

Sascha jumped down from his desk. "I've told you that I just like doing this," he said, "and I love working with you. Do you want some coffee?"

Rudgar nodded. "Black," he said, but then paused as he thought about what Sascha had said. "Why do you love working with me so much?"

"Because we're friends," Sascha said, "and I never had many of those." He started for the door, but paused as his small hand graced the doorknob and his face grew serious for a brief moment. "Besides, this is all like a dream," he added, "In fact, I did dream of you once, when I was young. I don't remember much of the dream, but I remember seeing your face." He shrugged and walked out of the office without apparently noticing Rudgar's surprised expression.

Ashes fell on to his desk, but Rudgar barely noticed as he stared unseeingly as the door where Sascha had just exited. A memory began to play in his mind as if his own record had gotten stuck in a loop, and he couldn't stop the images from rising to the surface. "A dream, huh?" he mumbled to himself before slumping to his chair and allowing his mind to travel back in time.

((x))

The small house was tilted and appeared to be ready to collapse under its own weight. Huge holes had been broken in the wood so that the wind and rats would wriggle through without any real effort, and the porch groaned in the wind. It barely looked habitable for an animal, but Rudgar already knew that people actually lived here.

And they had a small child.

The reaper lit another cigarette as he stared down at the house from a barren, twisted tree. There was actually no real point to him smoking since he no longer had the addiction, but he had smoked all his life and felt someone naked if he didn't have a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Besides, it was really the only bad habit he allowed himself, and everyone should be allowed at least one vice.

The slate covered clouds overhead grumbled and threatened, but no rain was falling as Rudgar watched a woman leave the house. She was quite thing so that her clothes flowed about her form like a flag, and there was an unhealthy gray tint to her skin. Her eyes only had a tiny spark of life and personality as she glanced about uncertainly, and it looked as if she could collapse at any moment, but she was not the one that Rudgar had come here to collect. With a few more nervous glances, she stepped off the porch and started down a rock path towards a neighbor's house.

It was time.

Rudgar hated this even though he tried to think of this as just another assignment. With a loud sigh, he jumped and landed deftly on the porch. Although he had landed heavily, he made no sound and he felt that no one could not see him. His cloak was in effect as he stepped inside the house, but even he almost winced from the gloom.

Although dark, the house was mostly clean and it was obvious that the woman had tried to make this a home. Tattered curtains hung from the windows, and there was some order to the sparse belongings. The only exception was a large man that sat solidly in a soiled chair in the center of the room. He seemed out of place as he only sat there with the stench rising steadily from his filthy body as he brought another beer to his lips to slurp loudly at the contents. Bowls of half-eaten, moldy food surrounded the chair and added to the smell. Some people would be quick to blame the woman, but Rudgar had observed her trying to clean. Whenever she stepped near this man, her husband, he would yell and strike out. She had learned to keep her distance with the hope she didn't draw his attention.

Rudgar's destination, however, was the sagging, ancient crib which set in the back of the room. It was obvious that it had been placed at the farthest distance from the man. The child inside the crib was tiny, even for his young age, and there was no toys around him. His diaper was freshly changed, and the child was clean. It was evident that his mother was doing her best to care for the child, although he still whimpered and cried.

He was too young to stand, but he leaned against the bars of his crib from a sitting position. "I hungry!" he cried, "Momma! I hungry!"

Rudgar was a bit taken aback. He wouldn't have thought the child old enough to speak so clearly. Again to his records, this boy was only 5 months old, but he was speaking in clear, rudimentary sentences. The father didn't seem to share this amazement as he suddenly began to shout.

"SHUT UP!" roared the man. He began to curse between mouthfuls of alcohol.

The boy whimpered again, but the pain in his gut seemed to be too much for him to bear. "Hungry," he cried again, "Where food at?"

Even before the man erupted from his chair, Rudgar knew that the moment had finally arrived. The man was going to shake and kill his own son in this drunken rage. Rudgar had been watching for a bit, and the man didn't understand his obviously bright son, and his confusion only turned to anger in his inebriated brain. For the first time since becoming a reaper, Rudgar turned away. He didn't want to watch, although he wished he could avoid listening at the child's dying cries.

The man didn't seem to even realize what he had done as he trudged back to his chair and sat down. Rudgar hated that creature that called himself a man as he turned and walked over to the crib. The child's dying gasps were becoming less infrequent, but Rudgar waited. Typically, there was little reason to look at so young of boy's records since there was so little to be seen.

The door opened and Rudgar turned to see that the mother had returned. She seemed to realize something was wrong as she glanced briefly at her husband before running back to the crib. Crying, she reached in grabbed her son in her arms, as she turned and glared at the man.

"What did you do to him?" she yelled.

The man only mumbled his response as he rubbed his temples, but Rudgar watched as the weak woman seemed to gains strength from her dying son.

"What did you do?" she cried again, and then dropped to her knees. To Rudgar's surprise she seemed to start praying. "Oh, please, give me back my son," she whispered, rocking back and forth, "I'll protect him. I'll take him away from here. Just give him back."

Rudgar's job had been so clear. He was supposed to collect this child's records and nothing more, but now he faltered. This boy was smart and, if the mother truly protected him, he might do great things if allowed to live. Trying not to think too much about the consequences, he pulled out a stamp and marked his to-die list.

Immediately the boy coughed and began to move. Upper Management would check over his request to give the child a second chance, but the boy would be allowed to live until then. There was a strong chance that they would trust his opinion and let him live until his time to die came once again.

"Live long, Sascha," Rudgar whispered.

To his surprise, Sascha opened his eyes and looked directly at him. Sometimes, young children could see reapers, but it was still a bit disconcerting when they looked eyes. Somehow, Rudgar managed a smile before creating a portal and leaving the dilapidated house. He never even thought that he might see Sascha again.

((x))

"Here's your coffee," Sascha announced in a singsong voice as he placed the cup on Rudgar's desk, "Do you need anything else?"

"No," Rudar replied, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Smiling, Sascha took seat behind his desk, and Rudgar couldn't help but notice how tiny he looked.

His request to give Sascha a second chance had been approved, but Rudgar had known even then that it would go against his record if his instincts proved wrong. Unfortunately for all, Sascha's life hadn't improved after that and, after he became a Shinigami, Rudgar had been told that his mistake would add years to his own sentence. He had taken the news calmly since he had never really thought about the length of his supposed sentence. Despite everything, he known he had done the right thing. If he hadn't given Sascha a second chance, they wouldn't have had a chance to work together.

"It wasn't a dream," Rudgar mumbled to himself.

"What?" Sascha asked, looking up. He had been doodling something in the diary he liked to carry with him at all times.

"Nothing," Rudgar said, "Let's go ahead and get started. It's going to be a long day, and I want to get home at a reasonable time tonight.

Smiling, Sascha jumped up from his seat and hurried toward the door as Rudgar followed behind his young partner. None of this was a dream, but they would face this reality, grim or otherwise, as best that they could.


End file.
